


His Last Goodbye

by HuonParticlesAreHarmless



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Actually this story is pretty much one giant flashback, And John, And Sherlock isn't in the right either, And nameless, BAMF!John, BAMF!Victor, But we will have to see with Mycroft and Victor, F/M, Flashback, I promise @watsonshoneybee (Darcy L.), I'm preemptively saying I'm sorry, I'm sorry Sherlock, It's just that she messed with wrong person and die in a gutter somewhere, It's not that Mary doesn't exist in this universe, John will also say BUMBLE at one point, M/M, Redeemed!Victor, Starting at Chapter 2, This is going to have an ambiguously happy ending, Victor isn't an ass in this one, and Mycroft, and Victor, and also Soft!John, because of Sherlock and John, but it's mostly sass coz that man is the King of Sass and maybe England, he will say it, mostly - Freeform, or is he the Queen?, so it's someone else that's going to hurt Sherlock, we also will get to see a more playful side to Mycroft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-06-03 08:21:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6603658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HuonParticlesAreHarmless/pseuds/HuonParticlesAreHarmless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Do you ever think about your regrets? It's never easy reconciling them, especially if they're half-way around the world. But you'd do it in a heart-beat, just to hear them say: "I forgive you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: And This Is How The World Ends, Not With A Bang, But A Whimper

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'd like to thank [ConsultingPurplePants](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ConsultingPurplePants/pseuds/ConsultingPurplePants) for beta-ing this piece, even when she's stressing over the Endocrine System. Love you bae!

The man slowly dropped the gun and raised his hands in the air while clumsily trying to kneel on the ground, his left knee brace getting in the way. He grimaced at the twinging pain radiating from his knee, and furrowed his brow pensively. He let his lips curl upwards, feeling absolutely no remorse for what he had done. It was up to Mycroft now if he'd be executed after a farcical trial or to be sent on a suicide mission to God knows where, knowing he'd have six months to live. Less if it was one of the Eastern European countries.

"Don't shoot! DO. NOT. SHOOT!" A small tinny voice shouted, which was coming from a nearby soldier. "I repeat: Do not shoot!"

The man, one Doctor Victor Samuel Trevor, sighed in resignation. 'Should start packing for Serbia soon, it's fucking cold no matter what time of year it is,' he thought sardonically.

Some soldiers started roping off sections of the grounds, while others kept their guns trained on him.

"Victor," a soft voice sobbed. The kneeling man turned to his left where Sherlock's shock and horror bled through his usual stoic façade, though it was very transparent to those who knew him well. John's face, though, he couldn't look at for long or he'd be liable to lunge at the man and scoop him up in a comforting embrace, telling him it would be alright. Though it wouldn't be even remotely true. He looked at Sherlock instead, knowing he only had a few seconds left before he'd be cuffed and led away.

Victor cleared his throat, then smiled, but it came out more of grimace. "I'm sorry," he said, not only to them but to Mycroft, who must have heard, what with the many mics on the teeming soldiers that were carrying them.

Then, a muffled voice made a group of soldiers surround and cuff him, and they led him toward a parked black, large armored truck.

John, unexpectedly, burst into motion and tried to extricate Victor from the soldiers around him, but Sherlock took a hold of him before he could reach them, surprisingly strong for such a skinny man. John cursed him and tried to wiggle free, to no avail, Sherlock not giving him an inch, just in case he tried again. John huffed in angry amusement.

Victor turned to the men's scuffle and shook his head with a chuckle. "I'll be fine, John. Mycroft will probably just make me sweat a bit in the holding cell," he reassured with a cheeky smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I'll be back to terrorizing you and Sherlock before you know it and you'll never be able to get rid of me!"

A mix between a broken sob and an unwilling laugh bubbled out of John, though Sherlock just gave him a sad knowing smile. A gentle nudge told him to say his goodbyes, because for now, he was leaving.

'It's now or never,' he thought.

"You're both the crappiest little brothers I've ever had, but I love you anyway." 

They both laughed with tears in their eyes, which slowly turned into John sobbing brokenly into Sherlock's neck.

He turned away, knowing that if he didn't, he'd try to escape and he owed it to Mycroft not to do that.

Finally, he was led into the black armored truck and driven to a secured prison facility for murdering of one Charles Augustus Magnussen, news magnate and the "Napoleon of blackmail."


	2. Looking Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This will start a little bit before "The Blind Banker" as a flashback to show how it led to Victor shooting Magnussen and will continue from there. Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, hello. Sorry for taking so long, uni and life in general just took over. Anyway thanks to [ConsulitngPurplePants](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ConsultingPurplePants/pseuds/ConsultingPurplePants) for beta-ing my dumbass.

An alarm blared in the background as the cabin was filled with smoke.

"We're out of fuel! We're going to crash!"

"May-day! May-day! This is MJN Air Golf Echo Romeo Tango India 221, please respond!"

"Christ, Martin, no one's going to respond!"

"Shut up, Douglas! Go pour some whiskey in the engine!"

"Martin, that's not how this--!"

"Boys! Do shut up!"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Shit!"

"Arthur!"

"Sorry, mum. It's just--the left engine's not working."

The plane suddenly lurches into a sharp nose-dive.

"BRACE FOR IMPACT!" 

 

* * *

 

Victor groaned as blinding light filled his throbbing senses. Slowly opening his eyes showed Arthur with his neck at an unnatural position, not breathing. He swallowed tightly.

A low whine came from behind him, most likely from Carolyn's dog.

Another groan next to him had Victor slowly turning his aching head, Carolyn had a gash on her cheek and her left arm was at an unnatural angle that made Victor wince.

"Douglas!" a frantic voice shouted. "Nonononononono, please, please, please..."

A different voice groaned. "Martin, shut up!" the older man gritted out. "You're worsening my headache."

Martin sighed in relief. "Oh thank God."

Someone sighed. Douglas, presumably. "I'm glad you're alright, too."

Martin squeaked. "Me too."

Victor could hear the smirk in Douglas' voice. "You're blushing."

"Am not!" Martin said with another squeak.

Victor chuckled at their sappiness, which was a really bad idea, as his head throbbed insistently. His vision began to blur.

_'Fuck. I probably have a concussion,'_ he thought wearily.

"Cap'n Crieff, Firs' Off'cer Richardson," Victor called hoarsely, his Scottish brogue escaping his usually impeccable enunciation. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," the captain called out, followed by the first officer's agreement.

Victor closed his eyes in relief. "Gud, gud. Not to hurry you lads, but we need to get out of here," he said slowly. "Carolyn's alive, but tha lass is pain."

Two quick clicks, most likely the two men undoing their seat belts.

Slow foot steps marked the two men's progress. The young man looked like he'd been through the ringer, a line of blood dripping from his hairline down the side of his face, then onto his white shirt with a very rumpled appearance. The first officer looked just as rumpled himself, but had no visible injuries that needed tending.

The younger man saw Arthur's still form and Victor saw his face crumple. "No. No. Nononononono..." his voice chanted. "Not Arthur. Please, please, pleasepleaseplease--"

His body sank to the ground and Douglas was quick enough to catch what would have been a hard slam to the knees. The two sat together, Martin practically on Douglas' lap, as the captain cried out his misery while the other man rubbed his back soothingly up and down.

It took a few minutes for the young man to calm down and composed himself, but he didn't seem to want to get out of the older man's embrace.

As much as Victor was rooting for them, he felt like he was slipping into unconsciousness. "Firs' Off'cer," he called out.

Both men startled and turned in his direction, a blush staining their faces, but didn't look ashamed of it.

"Can you move, sir?" the first officer's calm, but slightly gruff voice asked.

Victor tried to smile, but it probably came out more of a grimace if the other men's face was any indication. "It's Victor to you, lads," he said, before trying to move his left leg. "Aaaaarrrgg!"

The captain moved quickly to his side, Douglas grunted as Martin had accidentally elbowed him on the ribs, but followed just as quickly, if more calmly. "What's wrong?" Victor could sense a rising panic in the man younger man.

Victor gritted his teeth and exhaled through flared nostrils with a pained hiss. "Right leg is fine. But the left might be a problem."

Martin started to panic, his breathing much faster and shallower. "Oh god, oh god, oh god--"

"Lad-" Victor tried to stall his impending panic attack.

"I-I-can't-I-"

"MARTIN!"

The captain froze at the first officer's shout.

"Breathe, lad," Victor ordered, rubbing the other man's back up and down, while Douglas massaged the nape of his neck. Martin's breathing finally eased to a calmer level after minute or so. "Better?"

Martin nodded his head meekly. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Victor sighed. "It's fine, lad. We've all been there," he consoled the younger man.

Douglas hummed in agreement. "Happens to the best of us."

"I guess I'll have to act'vate that homing beacon," he muttered, before pressing a notch on his elephant pendant. "Th're. That should do it."

Douglas looked at the jewelry in curiosity. "What's that?"

Victor hissed a low exhale. "The cavalry, we'll be outta here in a jiff. Most likely inna 'bout three hours," he explained, not very well. He blinked a few times, but the spots weren't going away. "Lads. Can yeh prom'is me something?"

Martin looked at Victor with wide eyes. "S-sir?" he asked, both men eyeing him warily.

"Whoever's gonna get us will ask for a code phrase," Victor slurred lightly, trying to get everything out before he passed out, feeling his body drooping into unconsciousness. "It'll be Whiskey Mont'gue Tango Foxtrot 0086, get that? Whiskey Montague Tango Foxtrot 0086."

Martin nodded shakily. "Um. Whiskey Tango--"

"Nah, Whiskey Montague...Tango Foxtrot 0086."

"Right. Uh, Whiskey Montague Tango Foxtrot, uh--"

"0-0-8-6."

"Yeah, okay, um. 0086."

Victor blinked again. "Say it one moar time," Victor slurred, his tongue felt like lead.

"Whiskey Montague Tango Foxtrot 0086," Martin said with a triumphant grin, while Douglas murmured along.

Victor gave them a lopsided smile. "Gud, lads, gud. Migh' wan'ta...write...that...down..." he trailed off, before the darkness pulled him down, no longer hearing the two men's panicked pleas.

 

* * *

 

Victor's eyes snapped open, panting heavily. It took him a few minutes to orient himself and remember that it's been a long time now. Martin, Douglas, and Carolyn were fine; Snoopadoop, had passed on a several years back.

They were actually better than fine, after what he last heard a couple months ago, what with Victor slyly becoming a silent investor for OJS Air; Martin still at the helm, Douglas at his side, and Carolyn a bit more solemn. He paid for Arthur's funeral, knowing it was the least he could do.

Victor felt the rays of the morning light coming in from the windows, chasing away the memory.

He pushed himself up to a sitting position to massage his twinging knee with a pained grunt and a relieved sigh, probably triggered by the nightmare. He pressed both palms onto his eyes to rub away his sleepiness and start his day.

 

* * *

 

After a nice hot shower and changing into a white dress shirt, grey waist coat with matching suit trousers, red skinny tie, and oxford shoes, he moved to the kitchen where his housekeeper greeted him.

"Good morning, Dr. Trevor," a woman in her late sixties addressed him.

He sighed at her teasing smirk, then smiled fondly. "Gud mornin' Grace," he replied. He no longer bothered to correct her on calling him Victor after all these years.

Victor just sat at the island where a place mat and utensils were set up, resting his elbows on the counter. All the while he watched Grace cook an omelet and sauté mushrooms, spinach, and onions with elegant skillet tosses.

Suddenly, the opening bars of "Creep" jolted Victor out his trance as he watched his housekeeper finish setting everything down for breakfast.

Victor made a face, while Grace made a disgruntled sound. "You still pay that man?" she complained as she sat next to him at the island.

He sighed. "I knew I forgot to do something yesterday," he replied sarcastically. Grace snorted, before he answered. "What do you want, Wilkes?"

"There's been a break-in, sir," a smarmy voice answered, belonging to one Sebastian Wilkes.

Victor rolled his eyes. "Then call Scotland Yard," he countered. He felt a tension headache already building behind his eyes.

_'Does he need you to hold his hand, too? Or would that send mix signals?'_  A napkin shoved into Victor's field of vision had said. The man snorted, completely missing what the other man said.

"So I'm guessing that's fine then?" a relieved-sounding Wilkes asked.

Victor wagged his finger in mock-chastisement at Grace. She just smirked in response.

"I beg your pardon? What's fine?" He felt a knot in his stomach, dreading the news.

The other man cleared his throat. "Um...well, I-" he stuttered.

Victor growled lowly. "What. Did. You. Do." he enunciated with an undertone of malice, not really in the mood for games. Grace raised her brow, as it took a lot to anger her boss, which he ignored in favor of listening to the other man.

Another round of throat clearing came from the other side. "We didn't see anything on the tapes. Nothing's been stolen--"

"Get on with it!"

"I've sent an email to hire Sherlock Holmes!" Wilkes blurted out.

"..."

"...s-sir?"

Grace looked concerned at Victor's paling, already-pale-to-begin-with, face. "Victor?" she called his name softly.

Victor visibly composed himself before he answered and dismissed Grace's entreaty, for now.

"Mr. Wilkes, you are on thin ice," he hissed in a deadly tone. "Here's what we're going to do. Are you listening?"

Wilkes took an audible swallow. "Yes, sir."

"You are going to be his primary contact."

"Of course, sir."

Victor exhaled slowly. "If I hear one peep of misconduct on your part, Wilkes, you'll be blackballed and fired so fast, your head'll spin."

Wilkes' breath hitched at the threat. "Y-yes, sir."

"Good," Victor ended the call. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed in annoyance. "Idiots. Why do I always seem to hire idiots?"

"Oi!" Grace snapped in indignation, though her grin belied her apparent anger.

"My mother hired you."

She huffed and crossed her arms. "I'm still saying: oi," she argued. "And what the two you hired? Richard and Amelia?"

Victor snorted in amusement. "Actually, Richard was hired by my father after Richard had retired from the SAS as a bodyguard first, then driver. Amelia, on the other hand, was from a temp agency. We kept her because she could do my job better than I could, and she didn't even try to get in my pants."

"She has a fiancé. Well, wife now."

"That's beside the point!"

Grace raised her brows in mock-surprise. "Really? You had a point?"

He sighed. 'I've been doing that a lot lately,' he thought. What he said was,"Of course! I'm just biding my time until I can justify firing the idiot."

"And why not now?"

"His contract is pretty airtight compared to most of my advisory staff. And also, his uncle is on the board."

She made a moue of disgust.

"My thoughts exactly."

After a few minutes of silence, Grace spoke. "Your food's gone cold."

He shrugged. "Hot. Cold. It's always good," he stated, before Victor dug into his breakfast. It was still warm.

Grace stared at her employer, her face full of questions. Victor raised a brow to prompt her.

"Something Wilkes said had caused a lot of anxiety earlier," she stated calmly, making the man blanch a little, but Victor nodded his head in acquiescence with a ragged swallow.

He put his cutlery down and took a sip of his still-hot tea, stalling for time.

"It's me ex," he admitted with a burr. "I wasn't mature enough for him and I handled it badly."

Grace said nothing and waited for Victor to continue, and surprised at his Scottish accent.

"It wasn't--" He paused, to collect himself. "It was a bad deal all 'round."

Victor leaned back on his chair. "Met the lad in uni, both of us finishing our degrees. Me with my residency and his with a double major in chemistry and criminology," he sighed, then chuckled lightly. "He had an awkward charm, and is, was scarily brilliant."

He looked at the counter top with distant eyes. "He also had an addictive personality, something I knew nothing 'bout. The firs' time I saw him passed out high, I panic'd."

Grace made a sympathetic noise and just held Victor's shaking hand, not giving him advice just yet.

He gave a bitter laugh. "I ran to his brother. Someone who was just old as me, and he was able to get me to talk 'bout what had happen'd and had arranged for everything."

Victor made a choked sound, before clearing his throat. "I didn't see him again, 'til a few days later at a rehab facility. He didn't say anything, not that he had to, what with the disgust and betrayal lining his face and body language. So I ran again after graduating, this time to somewhere I wouldn't see the reminders of how blind I was, and how much of a kid I still was."

At this point, Grace had moved to stand in the V of Victor's seated form and hugged his shaking body, while she rubbed his back up and down. He hunched down slightly to cling onto her much shorter form for her soothing presence, which slowly calmed him enough to continue.

"But karma, 'n I didn't believe in karma before, had follow'd me to New Delhi 'n gave me this leg brace," he said into her neck, a bit muffled.

"Oh child," Grace cooed softly. "No one is ready for that kind of responsibility."

"But-"

Grace pulled away slightly, she wagged a chiding finger. "No buts, young man!" she admonished sternly, brooking no argument. She took his face in both hands and wiped his tears away. "You can't keep hiding from this."

Victor swallowed tightly. "I know," he replied hoarsely. "But I don't know how tah bridge the gap."

She smiled sardonically. "You won't know 'til you try."

He gave a watery laugh. "Nine 'n half hour flight to London, then?"

"I haven't been to London in a while," Grace said pointedly after a beat.

He huffed. "Like I could leave you here 'n your wonderful cooking."

The older woman rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Boys."

"What? I'll admit it!"

"Yes, yes," she teased. Then she made shoo-ing motions. "Now, go on! Scat!"

Victor looked at her in bewilderment. "What?"

Grace narrowed her eyes at him. "You are booking tickets to London for tomorrow--"

He raised a brow. "I have a PA for that," he interrupted.

She continued either not listening or just wanted to prove a point. "--and you will pack--" she said.

Victor made a face but only said: "Okay."

"--and you will talk to that boy," she finished with a stern expression.

He sighed. "Yes, màthair," he acquiesced in a teasing tone. Grace pinched his bum in retaliation. "Oi! Look, but don't touch!"

She laughed. "Leave, you demonspawn!"

Victor scurried away, as fast as the brace allowed, laughing all the while, not seeing the tender expression Grace sported in his direction.

 

* * *

 

They left New Delhi at eight AM and arrived at Heathrow airport after a nine and half hour flight on a charter plane. Victor hadn't felt like sharing his space along with the crush of humanity and wanted Grace to experience the luxury of being in one.

He was going over term papers he had assigned in the beginning of the semester.But after reading the same paragraph for the sixth time, Victor gave it up as a bad job and put it in his briefcase, as he kept being distracted about meeting with Sherlock Holmes, whom he hadn't seen in almost twenty years.

"Sir?" a voice called on the PA system, pulling him out of his circular thoughts. It sounded like the captain had been trying to get his attention for a while now.

Victor cleared his throat. "Yes, captain?" he asked.

"We'll be landing shortly," the captain said.

Victor nodded, knowing the captain could see him from the cockpit. "Thanks, Martin," he acknowledged. He turned to Grace, who had woken up from the intrusion. "What would you like to eat tonight?"

Grace made a humming noise. "Thai," she answered after a few beats.

He nodded in agreement and fastened his belt as he felt Gerti's landing gear move into place, a light bump signaling the landing and breaking, before taxing to Victor's private hanger where Richard Ross, his driver, and Amelia Drake, his PA, were waiting for them.

Victor hugged Carolyn and shook the captain and the first officer's hands as he exited the craft. A black SUV met them at the steps along with Amelia tapping out keys, most likely emails about important documents.

"Welcome back to London, sir," she greeted him.

Victor offered her a tired smile. "It's nice ta be back, 'Melia," he replied gruffly.

Grace threw her arms around the younger woman in a quick hug. "Hello, you pretty little thing," she greeted, Amelia moving to do the same. Richard, a man about Victor's height of six foot four and build, opened the vehicle's door with a smile and nod.

They sidled into the SUV, and it moved as soon as everyone was buckled in.

Victor exhaled slowly, letting the tension in his body seem out. "Richard, take us to that Thai restaurant on Fulham Road," he said The quietness had settled into his bones.

The brows in the rear view mirror scrunched up in pensiveness, dodging traffic as he drove. "Rosa's, sir?" he asked to confirm.

Victor nodded with an agreeing sound and closed his eyes to rest them for the 25 minute ride. Not even five minutes later, he was jolted out of his light doze as Richard punchedthe brakes, making the SUV stop abruptly.

"Sorry, sir!" Richard apologized before Victor could demand what's going on. "It's just there's a road block that appeared out of nowhere."

Victor looked out and let out a groan as a black sedan rolled its window to reveal a familiar, and mostly unwelcome, face. He looked back and there was already another black SUV behind them, which made it harder to get out without crashing to the other, most likely heavily armored, vehicle.

Grace cursed and they all looked at her in surprise. "What? That man was infuriating when I was still the director of MI6 and he's still infuriating now," she said defensively. "Doesn't he know how to call?"

Victor snorted. "Yes, but that would be so plebeian," he retorted and the others huffed in agreement. "Right. Roll down your window, Richard, when he sends one of his minions."

"And my sidearm, sir?" he asked.

Victor rolled his right shoulder, as it tightened from stress. "Leave it in plain view, but don't allow them to take it," he instructed.

"Sir."

As predicted, a burly man that even Richard would've been hard pressed to subdue came over to the driver side window.

"Mr. Holmes asks you follow the black sedan," Burly Minion said, though there was an underlying threat that made everyone tense.

Richard looked over his shoulder in askance, Victor nodded in agreement. Burly Minion then toddled off without so much as a goodbye, which made Grace scoff and roll her eyes. "Amateur," she muttered, crossing her arms.

The procession moved immediately along the M4, going east, most likely towards Vauxhall.

Victor laughed lowly. "You brought those twin ceramic daggers I got you for Christmas, yes?" He asked, as he pressed a code on a pin pad, revealing his modified forearm crutch that had a hidden sword inside.

She scoffed. "Of course, Victor," Grace said as she flicked a wrist to drop it into her hand, then put it back in the forearm holster. She raised a brow at his crutch. "Is that the one Q had made for you as gag gift-but-not-really?"

Victor hummed. "No, this only one has a hidden katana. That one had everything but the kitchen sink," he replied with a snort.

Richard coughed, as he tried to cover his laughter. "Didn't it also have a button that had would bring down the W.R.A.T.H. of the American government?" he asked.

"Wrath?" Amelia asked, as she placed two small ammuniton clips in each thigh garter. A Walther PPK was secreted somewhere Victor dared not ask.

"Weapons Raining Apocalypse To Hell," Victor answered, his eyes closed, he knew had another fifteen minutes; ten to Vauxhall cross and five for the car freight elevator to get underground.

Amelia snorted. "Wrath, indeed."

 

* * *

 

"We're here, sir," Richard announced, before unlocking all the doors. A minion popped out and opened the door on Victor's side.

He nodded at the minion, settling his left forearm crutch to bear some of his weight, Victor held his hand out for Grace and Amelia to help them out of the SUV.

"This way, sir," a woman tapping quickly on her phone directed.

Victor blinked. "Michelle?" He asked in surprise.

Michelle smirked. "It's Anthea, actually," she corrected, while moving toward a vault-like door. She placed her hand on circular pad on the right. "Viper Protoccol Engage: Tango-Hotel-Echo-Sierra-Mike-Uniform-Golf-Bravo-Alpha-Sierra-Tango-Alpha-Romeo-Delta-0-2-2-1-9-4."

The door opened with light hum, Anthea strode through with purpose, her heels clacked lightly through the corridor.

Victor nodded in acquiescence. "Fitting, I suppose," he muttered and walked after her, Grace, and Amelia pace behind with Richard taking the rear. The vault door closed with a soft hiss and electrical hum.

The corridor had doors that were fairly nondescript. They stopped at another vault-like door, only much smaller and with a DNA scanner and something similar to the Ravenclaw Tower door knocker, though this one had an electronic voice that spat out the riddles.

"How is a raven like a writing desk?"

"Because it can never produce a few notes, though they are 'very' flat; and it is 'nevar' put with the wrong end in front."

The AI sounded like it was smirking. "Someone knows their Carroll." The door with a soft hiss and light whoosh of air.

Mycroft was already seated behind his desk as he frowned at a tablet while swiping and tapping away on the screen. He glanced up with an impassive face, and dismissed Anthea with a negligent wave.

She just nodded, and spared the quartet a barely-there nod. The vault door shut behind her with an ominous 'Thud. '

Mycroft turned his focus on Victor, a razor-sharp smile lining his usually stoic façade.

Victor internally cursed. _'This is going to be a long day,'_ he thought morosely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. That happened. And yes, that was a crossover-ish with "Cabin Pressure." You can blame Arthur dying on [ConsultingPurplePants](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ConsultingPurplePants/pseuds/ConsultingPurplePants) because and I quote, "Gddiigxkgxchvu Kill Arthur." Love you bae!


	3. The Blind Idiot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's been so long. I've been procrastinating with this and life just got in the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was kinda hungry when I was writing this, that's probably why I had Victor the way he is at the end of the chapter.
> 
> Not beta'd, all mistakes are mine.

Victor smirked at nothing in particular as he finished his breakfast. He gave Grace a side-ways glance, who looked for all the world hadn't brought the British Government to heel with just a few choice words and with an 'I-Am-Your-Mother-You-Listen-And-You-Shall-Do-As-I-Say' tone of voice. With a last gulp of the dregs of his tea, Victor stood with his forearm crutch bearing most of his weight.

"Well, I'm off," he said to Grace. "Try not to topple any more regimes."

As he put on his suit jacket , she replied. "No promises," she said with a wicked smirk.

Victor just laughed as he made his way to the garage where Richard and Amelia were waiting.

* * *

 Amelia cleared her throat and Victor raised a brow in her direction. "Mr. Holmes has arrived along with a companion," she said while tapping away on her mobile device.

"Did they say who?" Victor asked.

Amelia shook her head. "The team could run his face through the new software," she suggested, raising her eyes to his.

Victor made a humming noise. "No, it's fine," he said with a negligent wave of his hand. "If Mr. Holmes is bringing a companion along, then they're quite trustworthy on that alone."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

 As soon as he entered the lobby, there was a slight hush amongst his employees, before they continued with a much sharper cadence in their work.

Victor's tapping a lightly paced cadence with his forearm crutch on the dark marble floor and entered the executive elevator with Amelia peripherally checking their surroundings for any hostile attacks.

Victor hummed lightly the bars for 'Jeopardy' as the elevator moved to floors above them at a high speed, all the while watching the video footage of the break-in (or lack thereof) on the laptop and raising a brow at the precision of the 'burglar.' Amelia snorted at his odd mood.

The elevator dinged into silence and Victor shut the laptop abruptly. Every staff on the floor rose, relief shining in their faces.

Victor raised a curious brow at that.

"Wilkes probably burned a lot of bridges," Amelia answered the unvoiced question. "It's his position in this company that's been staying their hand."

Victor hmm'ed in agreement.

Beatrice Bordeaux, the Head Secretary of the company and Wilkes' personal one, walked towards them in barely hidden, malicious glee. "He's with them right now, and he's going against your warnings," she said mock cheerfully.

Amelia snorted. "No need to be that happy about it."

The other woman had a shark-like grin. "Oh, it's a red letter day," she said, before continuing more crassly, her East London accent coming on more strongly. " 'nd we've waitin' for the boss-man to throw the tosser out on 'is arse."

Victor smirked and gestured towards the doors mock magnanimously. "After you mi'lady," he said with a low nod, and a low cheer erupted from the other employees who went back to work in a more content atmosphere, though still rowdy from all the selling.

Beatrice curtsied. "Thank you kind sir," she said with a laugh.

Amelia just shook her head at their well-worn antics. "Children, I'm working for naughty children," she sighed. Beatrice slammed the doors open dramatically. "Also drama queens, apparently," she added drily.

Victor snorted. "You love us," he teased. "And you do get paid enough for this."

Amelia rolled her eyes. "Not really."

Victor just grinned and turned to the other occupants in the room who stood up, startled at the intrusion.

'Hmm. Small world,' he thought when he saw one Dr. John H. Watson with the infamous Mr. William Scott Sherlock Holmes. He leaned on the crutch more firmly and stared intensely at Wilkes, who swallowed nervously.

"You ignored my warnings, Wilkes," Victor pointed out calmly, as if it were everyday that one blackballs and sends an employee to the middle of nowhere since said employee wouldn't quit out of sheer obstinance. "Beatrice, be a dear, and escort the man out of the building. He's going to need the time to pack everything, our dear Mr. Wilkes is being sent to--"

"Cullman, Alabama," Amelia interrupted in a drone, though the glee is palpable in her eyes. "A branch just opened."

Sebastian sputtered indignantly, as Beatrice manhandled the idiot in a punishing grip that allowed him no room to get away. "You can't do this to me!" he cried. "My uncle will--"

Victor waved his hand dismissively. "Yes, yes. But I'm not firing you, you're actually getting a promotion," he pointed out cheerfully. "You're the director of that branch in Coleman--"

"Cullman," Beatrice corrected as she tugged a protesting Sebastian across the room.

"Whatever," Victor said with a roll of his eyes, then finally let the evil smirk he had been suppressing, out. "Have fun, Sebastian. They do _love_ foreigners in the Deep South."

"That's just mean," Amelia commented. Sebastian paled several shades lighter than what was possible, and was no longer struggling as Beatrice finally tugged him out of the office. She sighed and gave Victor the passes for Dr. Watson and Mr. Holmes, as well as a written report of the details in the burglary. "Here. I'll stay with Beatrice if you need anything else."

She closed the door gently on her way out.

A couple beats, then a loud cheer emanated from outside the door that made Victor smile. He turned to the other men. "Please, shall we gentlemen?" he asked, gesturing out into the trading floor and closing the door behind them. He lead them across the floor to the door leading into a former chairman's office.

John snorted. "Dramatic as always, Trevor," he commented.

Victor scoffed. "Says the man who got us kicked out of a brothel with literally our pants down our ankles," he retorted.

Sherlock cleared his throat. "How do you two know each other?"

"Can't deduce it?" John asked somewhat snidely.

Victor raised a brow at the pettiness and flicked his ear hard.

"Ow!"

Victor snorted. "You deserve it," he retorted, he faced the other man. "And to answer your question, Mr. Holmes, I was one of the instructors mentoring his class during his residency as an applicant for the army."

Sherlock's forehead puckered in confusion. "But I thought you immediately left for New Delhi during my first stint in rehab?"

John raised a surprised brow at that revelation, but kept quiet as Victor tapped his keycard against the reader to open the door to the former chairman's. "I didn't laze about in India," Victor said, walking towards the main room. "Got quite bored in two days, actually, and decided to contact a few of my old associates in the MoD. They got me in touch with a few higher-ups at a British base in Germany."

"Oh."

Victor ran a finger through the dust that settled and showed it to John. "Anyway, as you can see, this hasn't been used much."

"It looks like a memorial," John commented, looking at the defaced painting. "Though not as much right now."

Victor hmm'ed in agreement. "It is," and raised a challenging brow at the consulting detective. The man raised brow and nodded in acquiescence.

Sherlock spun around in a circle. "They didn't steal anything," he said after a seconds with his eyes darting about the place. Sherlock moved closer to the painting, intensely scrutinizing the details.

Victor nodded. "Yes, other than the vandalism on Sir William, nothing's been stolen," he agreed. "If I didn't know any better, I would've thought someone has a vendetta against the company. But the symbol is on the former chairman's eyes, meaning it's a bit more personal."

"Can we see your security videos?" John asked.

Victor passed the laptop he brought just for the case to the other doctor. "Here. And the building plans are also on the drive," he said, while also giving them the maximum clearance keycards for the building. "Gentlemen, I'll leave you to it."

Victor moved towards the door before turning and getting the cheque out of his inner pocket. "I almost forgot, here's the advance the company said they would pay."

Sherlock looked affronted. "I don't need--"

Victor rolled his eyes. "Yes, you probably don't, but John certainly does."

John blushed and took the cheque from Victor's outstreched hand. He glanced at the amount and his eyes widened in disbelief at the five digits. "This is too much!"

Victor snorted. "For his expertise, he's under-selling quiet a lot, I should think," he countered, Sherlock blinked in surprise at the unexpected praise. "Most consultants probably go for double, sometimes even triple what I'm going to pay you two at the end of this. Not that it was my call to pay him less than what he's owed, though it's probably just my pride that's nagging at me."

Sherlock smirked, but just shrugged at John's disbelief. "I like puzzles, John, remember?"

"Anyway, try to not get into any conspiracies, alright?" Victor advised, then smirked. "And if you do, shoot the nutters in the knee-caps first, question them later."

Sherlock snorted in amusement, while John just rolled his eyes. Victor finally left after a nod at the duo, and closed the door behind him.

* * *

 Victor rubbed palm of his hand against his tired eyes. He checked the time.

_7:50pm_

He groaned. _'I'm gonna get my arse kicked at this rate,'_ he thought morosely, glaring balefully at the large, innocent-looking pile of paperwork. _'I'll have to tell Grace I'm going to late.'_

He picked up his phone pressed the speed-dial for her phone.

_Ring_

_Ring_

_Ring_

_Ring_

_'Dr. Trevor?'_ Grace asked as she picked up her mobile, in concern. _'Is everything alright?'_

Victor sighed. "I'm cannae come home early today," he said with a huff.

 _'I made chicken tikka masala with saffron rice,_ ' Grace replied with a teasing lilt.

He groaned. "Dammit," he whinged, then made a split decision. "You know what? I'm coming home. It can wait."

She laughed at the other end of the line. _'See you then, Dr. Trevor.'_

"It's Victor."

_'As you will, sir.'_

"Cheeky," he mock-grumbled and hung up his mobile to her laughter.

He began packing any important documents that shouldn't be left out in the open and into his briefcase. There was a knock on his door, Victor raised a brow, wondering who could be here all this time, other than the caretakers of the building. But they know not to clean up his office, unless he's actually asked for the service.

"Come in."

The consulting detective walked in and closed the door behind him. Victor looked at him in surprise. "Hello, Wills," he said softly.

The other man coughed. "It's Sherlock, now. Brand change."

Victor nodded in acquiesce, not all bothered. "Alright then. Sherlock," he said. Then after a few seconds of silence: "Was there something you needed?"

Sherlock stiffened, Victor braced himself. "Why are you here?" he demanded with a cold mask sliding into place.

 _'Never one to beat around the bush,'_ he thought wryly.

Victor took a deep breath and exhaled. "Other than to tie up some loose ends with Wilkes, I came back to England to apologize to you," he replied with as much sincerity, trying to make the other man see his remorse.

Sherlock's mask of aloofness cracked and sat down abruptly in the visitor's chair. "What?" he asked breathlessly.

Victor walked around his desk and knelt in front of the shaken man. "I-I was still young and foolish, I dinnae have the maturity you needed to be in that relationship. I panicked and ran to your brother, knowing you wouldn't'ave liked the tosser ta know, but I was out of my depth," he said, swallowing the lump in his throat. "And then I ran again, going as far away to escape my responsibilities."

He bit his lip, as watched the emotions cross Sherlock's face: anger, sadness, and hurt. Reached to caress the younger man's face, but thought better of it, thinking the other wouldn't want Victor touching him. But was surprised to have the detective pull Victor's hand and put it on his cheek, leaning into the comfort of its warmth. "And I hurt you in the process."

Sherlock sighed. "I don't know what to think."

Victor gave him a sad smile. "You don't have to forgive me," he murmured. "Just take it for what it is."

The consulting detective returned the smile. "In another life, we might've made this work."

"Probably," Victor agreed, before smirking. "I thought you said reincarnation was I quote: _'a belief that was made for idiots who want to think there's something better for their miserable lives and not have to deal with inevitability that that life hasn't a grand meaning.'_ "

Sherlock snorted. "John's been rubbing off on me."

Victor's smirk widened. "Is that all he's been rubbing off of you?" he asked waggling his eyebrows. "Or would you like him to?"

Sherlock blush bright red. "Sh-shut up," he denied. "Plus he says he's not gay."

It was Victor's turn to snort. "Well of course he's not gay," he agreed, all the while Sherlock's face shut down. Victor rolled his eyes. "He's bi. John's very adamant about that distinction."

"Oh."

Victor hmm'ed and checked the time.

_8:20pm_

He cursed, making Sherlock's head snap to him as he made for his briefcase and shoved the documents unceremoniously into it.

"Sorry, I have to cut this short," he apologized as he moved around. "Grace made me my favorite and she's probably wondering where I am." He paused. "Unless, you'd like to come over? We wouldn't mind the extra company. Grace'll probably grill you for information about me, that'll be embarrassing, but fun. So?"

Sherlock blinked and nodded slowly, as if waiting for Victor to take it back. "Great!" Victor enthused, either oblivious to the hesitation or just plain ignoring it. "Let's get going, I'm starving."

**Author's Note:**

> Bother me on Tumblr if you'd like [ andithoughtiwasspecial](http://andithoughtiwasspecial.tumblr.com)


End file.
